Farewell Tour
by Bright Cold Day
Summary: Ninety years after the Reaper War, John Shepard visits old friends one last time.
1. Thessia

John Shepard sat quietly on the park bench, his thin frame huddled against the wind that blew in dry gusts between the towering buildings of Armali, which sloped dramatically towards the midday Thessian sky. The familiar nagging chill he felt was at odds with the weather, but he shrugged it off with a slight tremor of his body. It didn't matter anymore whether he sat in bright sun or in a freezing shuttle, there was always a coldness in his limbs, a sensation of creeping mortality that he couldn't get rid of.

He distracted himself from such thoughts by watching the festivities that filled the park in front of him. Extravagant decorations made up of multi-colored flowers formed into wreathes announced the holiday of Janiris, the New Year. Asari and their bondmates sat with blankets on the grass, picnicking with food and drink. Buzzing around them in orbit were blue whirls of Asari childhood, whose laughter and yells echoed down the park to him. Shepard smiled faintly at the sight. Families and peace and prosperity all together in this place, where once he had looked down from a shuttle and seen only fire and broken buildings and death.

His thoughts and reminisces were soon interrupted by an offered cup of tea that turned his focus away from the scene in front of him. He gratefully and slowly took the cup, deliberately putting both hands around it, which was the way he gripped everything now. He inhaled its scent and enjoyed the warmth of the stream that rose lazily from the cup's top.

"Thanks Liara." He watched her take a seat next to him on the bench. "And Blessed Janiris," he raised the cup slightly in a toast.

"Blessed Janiris," she repeated to him and then fell quiet. The silence between them was punctuated by bursts of celebrations in the park and distant music coming from somewhere that Shepard couldn't quite make out.

"I'm sure—" He started and then stumbled over his own words. The things he wanted to say to his old friend had seemed clear and straightforward on the flight to Thessia, even the reason why he'd felt the compulsion to visit her at all had been obvious. Yet now, as she sat next to him full of curiosity about his surprise visit, he felt his mind betray him and confuse his thoughts.

"I…uh," he stumbled again, but this time attempted to push on, "I know this sounds strange Liara, but I wanted to see you one last time." His voice spun into gravel on the last words.

Liara immediately looked alarmed. "Are you…are you ill? John I'm sure that whatever it is—"

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "No, I'm sorry I didn't mean to worry you. It's…the doctors say I'm in decent enough shape for my age, but…" He looked up and squinted into the light from a star that didn't warm him. "…Lately I've just felt a lot older than I am, I guess. I've lived a hard life." The tone of his voice dropped again, and he spoke the summation of his life with an exhale.

After a moment he continued. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but just…the battles, the wars, and seeing so many people die…including myself." He blinked away the hazy but painful memory of the Lazarus Project and continued, "and, you know, the political shitstorm afterwards in the vacuum. A thousand different people pulling on you, needing just one thing, just five minutes, all the while you're trying to keep the whole goddamn galaxy from falling apart."

He licked his lips, his mouth was dry from all the talking. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm tired. The kind of tired that doesn't show up on a doctor's chart. And before I'm ash, or as good as that in some hospital, I wanted to see my friends again. Not pitying me or telling me everything is going to be alright, but here…" He gestured to the park and the Janiris celebration. "On a park bench with people. With life."

There was a pause between them and then Liara said softly, "I understand John. I know how short the human life is. You burn so brightly, how could it ever be different?" Her words grew even quieter as she spoke and her face fell into shadow.

Shepard was surprised at the pained edge to her voice, and he unconsciously tapped the side of his cup of tea as he thought about what could have caused it. To deepen his concern she remained looking at the ground, not letting him see her eyes, which always expressed so much about what she was thinking. He decided that the best course of action was to temporarily change the subject, and so he leaned back against the bench and smiled at her. The deep network of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth came together to make him look mischievous. "Not like the Asari of course. Over ninety years since we first met on Therum and you still look exactly the same."

Liara laughed softly at his words but Shepard saw that it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, but I promise you that I feel different. Goddess, it's difficult to believe that I ever knew so little. But thought that I knew so much."

Shepard continued to eye her cautiously. "Well, nobody knows more about how the galaxy works than you. Or, I guess knew." He was aware that after the Reaper War Liara had briefly gone back to her role as the Shadow Broker, an individual who could break economies, leaders, and entire armies. Then something had changed in her and she'd left the position. He had no idea who occupied the position of Shadow Broker any more, not after Feron had been killed. He knew that Liara had chosen a different path, and a different job.

"So how's work?" Shepard asked innocuously.

Safely away from the topics of human aging and Shepard's health, Liara's eyes regained their wide and inviting nature. "They insist on trying to make me an administrator, a figure head at the college."

Shepard was well aware of similar political pressures. "Did you tell them that you could buy the college five times over?" He joked.

Liara fixed him with a look. "No, I didn't. I took the position because I wanted to return to working in the archeology field, but only as a lecturer." She paused and then continued in an aggravated tone, "instead I now occupy the Dr. Liara T'Soni Chair in Archeology." She waved her hand in a flourish and then sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry John, you didn't come all this way just to hear me complain about matters like these."

Shepard shrugged. "I came to see my friend," he said simply.

Liara smiled genuinely and her tone lifted. "Well, who else are you going to see then? Or who have you seen already?"

"You are the first." He lifted his cup to her. "I don't know though. I don't have a plan, really. Also I don't know where everyone is. After a couple decades, you just…well you know, you get on with your own life. Its not forgetting it's just moving on."

"Well…" she started. "A couple are easy at least."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed. "Tali is still an Admiral, I think. Or whatever the hell they call them these days."

"Nal'Shastar." Liara offered, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Right. And Wrex is still Wrex. Though with the civil wars over he's probably pretty restless now. I know he likes his throne, but he must hate to have to sit on it all day." Shepard mused.

"I believe Kasumi still works on Earth, correct? At that museum?" Liara asked.

"The Louvre." Shepard nodded. "She's the Head Curator of the paintings collection. I guess it has expanded a lot once since she got put in charge. Donations." He gave Liara a significant look.

"Mmm." She answered knowingly. "I don't know about Ashley…"

"Retired….and she's a grandmother now." Shepard laughed, though it came out more like a hoarse cough. He remembered the photos she'd sent him last Christmas of the entire family. "Things do change…." He muttered, mainly to himself.

"I haven't heard from Garrus or Samara," Liara said, her brow furrowed in concentration, attempting to remember.

"He works security for the Council, oversees it I think. Actually, did you know that Joker flies the Destiny Ascension now? Well…I imagine he probably does it with a whole bunch of people, but he's got himself a very nice place in one of the wards. I had dinner with him a couple years back."

"Goddess! That's frightening." Liara replied, her words full of mock terror.

"I know," Shepard gamely continued, "I didn't give him a recommendation. But I don't know about Samara…or Jacob for that matter. I hope wherever they are they're happy. After all the shit they went through, they deserve it…" he looked over at Liara and smiled faintly, "we all do."

"Yes. I feel the same way for all those who aren't with us." She added quietly.

Shepard nodded grimly. His mind turned to the well-trodden memories of the friends he'd lost. Zaeed, Thane, Mordin, the Doc, Anderson, and of course Kaidan. It didn't matter that most of them had survived the war, time had slowly but surely worn the sharp edge of their greatnesses down into dullness, leaving them feeble men and women who eventually became nothing but patient numbers. For some time Liara and Shepard simply sat together in silent remembrance, re-experiencing the tragic and triumphant moments each had spent with those friends they would never see again.

At last, with a tone that was more than a little forced, Shepard broke the silence. "You know…if you don't mind indulging an old man, would you mind a little walk?" He stood up, pushing off the bench with his right hand and then gripping the armrest to steady himself. He threw his cup of tea in the bin next to the bench.

"Of course, John." She moved towards him and took his offered arm, interlinking them. They began to walk slowly down the park and towards the festivities.

"Hopefully we won't start any rumors. Young Asari like you, and an old man like me." He smiled and the wind blew his snowy hair into a confused mess.

"I don't think your wife would like that." She looked at him askance.

"Oh, she knows that I'm too scared of her to even look at another woman." He continued, "fear is an underrated part of a marriage."

They walked a little further down the path, and Shepard noticed through a number of stolen glances that Liara's melancholy had returned. She no longer looked at him, but instead focused on the path in front of them. After a few moments Shepard decided to just ask. "Speaking of…how is your bondmate?"

"She is well." The response was measured and concise, but he saw the truth in her body. Liara's shoulders sagged under the weight of the question and her eyes became even more distant.

Shepard considered abandoning the topic again, and simply avoiding whatever it was that seemed to be bothering his friend so much. But it just wasn't in his nature to do so. He had been a soldier, and whether it was war or politics, the idea of confronting an issue and resolving it was an unconscious and automatic drive.

Nevertheless, he approached it with significant care and caution. "I know it's none of my business, Liara. I don't mean to…pry. It's just I couldn't help but notice that you seem a little, uh, preoccupied." He offered gently, and pulled her a little closer to him.

She looked at him, her eyes seemingly even wider than normal, the blue in them shimmering. "It is…I don't mean to burden you, John. I know what you said, but if this really is the last time we see each other…" she trailed off.

"Then I want to spend it talking about things that matter." He said quietly. "I'm not here for old war stories. We've been forced to relive those enough times in interviews and goddamn ceremonies." He stopped and turned to her. "Liara, I know I said that we're friends…" he hesitated slightly, unsure on such emotional ground, "…but I might as well be honest with you because maybe I won't get another chance…" He paused and then reached out and held her hand, "I consider you family. And if you don't want to talk about it then we'll drop it, but don't think you're burdening me with anything." Shepard watched as she looked down at their linked hands and then back up to his face, which bore a soft determination.

Liara pulled her hand back and re-linked arms with him. Without a word they began walking again. After a few moments she spoke, "It is…we are fine, but…when you brought up your age, it just reminded me of hers."

"But she must wear it a lot better than I do." Shepard offered sympathetically.

"She was designed to, yes. But…we have been dancing around a certain issue for some time. Decades, really." Liara paused and looked pained at the thought.

"Children?" Shepard asked. He couldn't think of anything else that could cause Liara to be this upset.

She nodded. "Yes. It is a common problem for Asari who meet someone in their Maiden stage. Many do not even attempt a serious relationship until they are over 300 years old. But…I have never acted like most Maidens, and even though I wasn't looking for this kind of bond….it found me."

Shepard smiled warmly at her words. He could feel the tenderness in them, and the sincerity of the love she possessed.

Liara continued after a moment. "I am still over a hundred years from the transition to Matron. Well, unless I chose differently." She looked down at the path in front of them and away from the young Asari running with their wreathes of flowers.

"Do you have to be a Matron for children?"

She looked over at Shepard. "It is…traditional and customary. To be a Maiden mother is not impossible, but very unusual."

"And you want to be a mother?" Shepard asked. It seemed to be the question that was at the very heart of the matter.

"I…I…" She paused and Shepard alarmingly saw tears begin to fill her wide eyes. Quickly, she removed his arm from hers and wiped them away. "I don't know. It would be difficult and if I became a Matron then I would lose much of my Maidenhood. But…I…we don't have that much time left." The tears flowed even more freely now, and Liara's words were punctuated with light sobs and quick swipes of her hand at her eyes. Unable to resist any longer Shepard opened his arms and embraced her, pulling her slighter frame to his, and holding her without speaking.

After nearly a minute Liara pulled away, a small hiccup and watery eyes were all that remained of her emotional outburst. Shepard gestured with his arm, and once again they began their walk.

"So…" he re-approached the subject carefully, not wanting to upset her any further. "What does Miranda think? Does she want kids?"

"Goddess." Liara sighed in frustration. "I have tried to bring it up, but when I do she just smiles and tells me that she loves me and is happy."

"Yeah…" Shepard replied, "…I know what its like loving someone who avoids emotion."

Liara continued without prompting. "I just…even with her genetic engineering, she will only live to two hundred, maybe." Liara hesitated and Shepard thought that the Asari was going to cry again. However, she steeled herself and kept going. "I want her to be a father. I want for us to come to this park and watch our daughter play. I want….Goddess…it is selfish, but I want something that is ours even when she's gone."

Shepard was quiet a moment and considered her words. He thought about his own daughter Sylvia, who he'd watched grow from a pigtailed, gap-toothed little girl, to an incredibly strong-willed woman who faced down angry diplomats on the Citadel as an attaché to the Human delegation. He and his wife had struggled over the decision to have a child as well, trying to intelligently weight the positives and negatives of something that was largely not quantifiable. He couldn't even imagine how much more difficult it must be for Liara and Miranda, who had difficulties he could never truly understand.

Nonetheless, there was one thing Shepard knew for certain, and he wanted to make sure that she knew it. "Liara, you've never been a selfish person." He said to her with as much conviction as he could muster. "I can't put myself in your place, it's impossible I know…but whether you have a child or not, Miranda is always going to be a part of you. So if you're going to do it, I mean, if you're going to have a child…don't do it for her because you think she might want one, or you want to make her happy. Do it because you want to be a family and because you love each other." He looked away from her self-consciously and up at the sun, whose warmth he was beginning to feel on the back of his neck.

After a few moments her words brought him back to the conversation, and to the path they were walking in the park. "You are very different from when I first met you, John." She said kindly and smiled at him with wet cheeks.

"I know, but when you first met me I was young. The only thing I knew was being a soldier. Now…I'm a father and a husband too…and after everything I've been through I'd like to think that I've learned what's important. And one of those things is being honest with the people you care about." Shepard still felt an old twinge of embarrassment at his own candidness, but he suppressed it, knowing that he had meant what he said.

"Hmm, yes." Liara agreed. "That is why I stopped being the Shadow Broker. The power was incredible; it was everything I thought I wanted after…" she hesitated slightly, the wound of the Normandy's destruction still tender enough to make her pause. "…After the Collector attack. But it was power for power's sake, there was no end, you were the Shadow Broker until somebody killed you. I didn't want that. I wanted…." Liara faltered again, but Shepard picked up her train of thought.

"Miranda?" He asked knowingly.

She smiled widely now. "Yes. As the Shadow Broker I was working constantly and usually alone. The few hours a day that I didn't work I slept at my desk. It was not a life. I wanted more, I wanted something solid after all that chaos. I guess…Goddess, I guess I wanted to know that I would wake up next to the woman I loved everyday." She finished, emotion creeping back into her voice.

Shepard squeezed her arm affectionately and sought to comfort her. "I understand. I felt the same way after the war too. I think that's probably why I ended up accepting the Admiralty offer at the Citadel. Living there, not being woken up at every hour of the day to put my life on the line. It wasn't something I thought I'd ever want, but I was just so tired. I'd been a soldier my whole life, it was all I wanted to be, but…after seeing world after world burn and so many people die…I wanted a break from the fight."

He sighed into the Thessian breeze, which had picked up as they'd shuffled slowly down the park path. Looking around he noticed that they'd managed to move past the revelers and to the park entrance, whose large open gate was interwoven with decorations for the festival. Olive, brown, white and crimson flowers crushed together to overwhelm the metal rungs of the gate, and loudly announce the Asari New Year. An opportunity for every Asari to start fresh, to feel young and optimistic, if only for a day.

"How long are you staying on Thessia, John?" Liara asked as she viewed the decorations with him.

"Oh, just for the day. For Janiris." He responded absentmindedly, admiring the way in which the flowers had been stitched together into different sized wreathes.

"Well, Miranda is returning from Illium tomorrow. She still handles some of Cerberus' holdings there. I know she'd love to see you, if you want to stay on Thessia a little longer." Liara offered, her tone wishful and clearly hopeful.

Shepard looked at her, and then back towards the park. At the children, the families, and the life that surrounded him.

"Yeah, Liara," he nodded and smiled. "I could stay for a little bit longer."

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><p><strong>Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.<strong>

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	2. Rannoch

**I'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone who read the first chapter of this story, and especially say thank you to everyone who left a review. Your positive feedback was very encouraging and I appreciated it greatly.**

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><p>John Shepard ignored the open stares that followed him as he slowly trudged towards Monument Park and the Hall of Laws beyond it. He gripped his small and unstylish suitcase tightly, his knuckles bloodless with the effort. Inside of the case were his sunglasses, which he'd foolishly forgotten to put on when he arrived, because the memory of the punishing aging orange sun of Rannoch had dimmed in the years since his last visit. Shepard briefly considered stopping and digging through sloppily folded sweaters to find them, but the effort seemed too much, and instead he simply squinted and continued forward.<p>

The stares from surprised Quarians were now accompanied with murmurs and whispers, of which he could only make out snatches of words. Shepard suspected that the attention was not for who he was, but rather what he was, a single human in the heart of the Quarian homeworld. Any non-Quarian on Rannoch was a minor sensation, especially when not accompanied by any sort of guard or tradesmen, which would clearly indicate their purpose.

After what felt like an interminable amount of steps, Shepard arrived at Monument Park. It appeared much the same as he remembered it, though he knew that his memories were decades old now, and frayed around the edges with indiscriminate details blurred.

The large park was flanked on each side by broad gray stoned boulevards, backed by sprawling government buildings, the Ral'Shalszar Museum, and decadent looking apartment buildings with wide balconies that looked down on the life below. The burgeoning nature of the Quarian bureaucracy and the luxurious-looking apartments seemed out of place to Shepard, and at odds with his remembrances of their traditions and practices. But he chided himself for such thoughts. He knew that the Quarians were still a people in transition, a people trying to merge a way of life that had been established on the Flotilla over hundreds of years with the reality of their freer and more liberated existence on Rannoch.

The titular monuments of the park exemplified this clash between the past and present, and Shepard wondered if after he was gone future generations of Quarians would look upon them with dispassionate interest, as relics of a time that they neither cared about nor were affected by. In his cynicism, he supposed it was inevitable. It seemed to him that the great struggles of the past always followed the same pattern. The generation that had lived them only wished to move on, the generation that followed only wished to romanticize the struggle, and all future generations thereafter only wished that people would stop bothering them about it.

The park was built around two central monuments; around which all others were subordinate in size and in the attention they received from visitors. The first was set slightly back from the front entrance and memorialized the Geth War. The monument was a gigantic frieze made from white stone, upon which scenes from the war were chiseled. The Geth's creation, rise to sentience, and rebellion unfolded along its length, which measured nearly half the park's width. The walkways that led to the monument were heavily decorated with multi-colored flowers that hung from latticework arched above them.

Through the canopies of flowers, Shepard saw families mill around the frieze. In particular, his attention was drawn to a small Quarian girl who couldn't have been older than five and only stood a few feet tall. Her mother was holding her tiny hand tightly, and Shepard saw with a small grin that the little girl was looking up at her and then to the frieze, before looking back again. The first of many visits he surmised.

He continued walking past the park, looking over its monuments and visitors, and away from the buildings and the stares. After several minutes, during which he traversed a disappointingly small amount of ground, Shepard came into view of the second monument around which the park was built, the Kolata.

The Kolata was wholly unremarkable in appearance; a dull steel gray cruiser of smallish size, which seemed to absorb the orange light of Rannoch's sun instead of reflecting it. It had once housed three Admirals and over six hundred Quarians, and accordingly had been given the honor of being the first Quarian ship to land on Rannoch in over four hundred years, following the Terminus Agreement. It hadn't moved since.

The negotiated re-settlement of Rannoch, as Shepard well remembered, had been a haphazard disaster. The initial plan to leave the vast majority of the Flotilla in orbit while engineering crews worked on rebuilding the planet's infrastructure, had quickly been abandoned after several highly impatient months. The tantalizing promise of Rannoch's wide-open spaces, along with the possibility of property rights and greater privacy, led to a few brash Commanding Officers ordering their ships to make planet fall. After that, more and more ships followed suit, until the entire Migrant Fleet had landed on Rannoch. The return of fifty thousand ships and over seventeen million Quarians to a place that was completely unknown to them, and still unable to support them, as it possessed no electricity, running water, or agriculture, was a logistical nightmare.

As a result of his role in helping to broker the Terminus Agreement, Shepard had visited Rannoch many times in the years following its signing. The Kolata symbolized a permanent return to Rannoch for the Quarians, but to him it represented the chaotic first year of the reoccupation, when ships simply landed wherever there was room in the city. He recalled walking through entire improvised shantytowns, made up of various fragments of the Flotilla, which had been set up in the shadows of broken buildings. For years afterwards the communities remained, as the Quarians were completely tied to the Flotilla for their survival. It wasn't until the basic foundations of an economy and means to produce food had been laid, that they were finally able to free themselves from the past.

Shepard turned away from those memories now, and in particular the ones that surrounded his unofficial role as the Citadel's liaison with the Quarian people. It would only lead to further remembrances of what came afterwards, and he had no desire to revisit them. Indeed, the prosperity that surrounded the park and the Kolata demonstrated that despite the hardship of those first years, and the political shitstorm that followed, the Quarian people were on the ascendant.

Shepard was still fighting away stray thoughts and memories, a battle he was intimately familiar with, when he rounded the end of the park. In front of him, finally, lay the Hall of Laws, the main seat of the Quarian government. Unlike many other buildings on Rannoch, and in the city, the Hall of Laws had recently been constructed and bore the clear markings of freshly cut stone and eager architects. The original Hall of Laws, which had stood in the same place, had been completely destroyed by the Geth. A symbol of Quarian loss in the war, but the very real graveyard of several senior politicians, the Geth had curiously avoided the leveled building during their hundreds of years of Rannoch upkeep.

Shepard entered through its impressively large doors, and with a quick peripheral glance at the well-armed soldiers that lined the lobby, made his way to the grand front desk. Several Quarians worked diligently behind it, tapping silently on keyboards and speaking in hushed tones to one another. After a moment of waiting, one of the youngest females looked up at him in startled surprise, which followed like a domino effect with the rest, and then said slowly.

"Uh….what can I do for you today?"

Shepard attempted to smile reassuringly but then realized a twenty something Quarian on Rannoch would only be confused by his facial expressions, and so he stopped. Instead, he decided to simply be direct. "I'm here to see Nal'Shastar Tali'Zorah." A silence followed between him and the Quarian, and after several seconds he continued in a deadpan tone, "I'm expected."

The young Quarian woman continued to stare for several more moments, but then finally blinked. "Yes, yes of course. I…" she hesitated for a second and then with a gesture called one of the soldiers towards her and addressed him. "…Syyid'Walhari this is Admiral John Shepard. Please escort him to the Nal'Shastar's chambers and give him every courtesy." Her last words seemed more of a warning than advice to Shepard's ears, and he could tell the soldier was not used to being spoken to in such a fashion. Nonetheless, his new companion nodded a curt acknowledgment to the woman, and without a word of greeting turned and began walking into the Hall.

Shepard struggled to keep pace with Syyid, and his suitcase continually banged against his leg in the effort. Without conversation, he was free to look around at the building's interior, at the large stone arches and columns, each carved with intricate patterns and scenes from Quarian history. He liked to think that his knowledge of Quarian culture and tradition was pretty extensive, for a human at least, but as they passed innumerable examples of it, Shepard realized that it possessed a richness he only knew faint glimpses of.

After several minutes of walking, which belied the grand size of the building, they finally arrived at a pair of doors that had another series of carvings on them. Similar in style to the rest of the building and the frieze in the park, the door depicted a female Quarian in judgment of a long line of other Quarians who stood single-file in line before her.

Syyid swiped at his omni-tool and waited for several seconds until a sharp beep came in return. Then with surprisingly little noise, the large doors parted, and Syyid left without a word.

Shepard broke into an unrestrained smile when he saw that his friend was waiting for him on the other side. He glimpsed in her softly glowing eyes the same happiness, and without exchanging words, each shuffled towards the other and embraced. They held one another for several seconds; time and their shared struggles erased any trace of self-consciousness or awkwardness between them. Reluctantly, Shepard finally took a small step back, but remained smiling as he finally spoke.

"It's really wonderful to see you Tali."

"You too, Shepard. I have been looking forward to seeing you again." She said genuinely, and Shepard noticed that her accent had thinned a little in the years since they'd last seen one another.

She turned and gestured into her office. Shepard followed and gratefully set his suitcase on the ground. The room was much as he remembered it from his last visit, opulently large for a Quarian who had experienced the claustrophobic conditions of the Flotilla, but modest by Asari or Salarian standards. As was tradition, it was decorated sparsely, with only a small desk and two chairs comprising the whole of the room's furniture. Several small paintings hung on the wall, which looked like landscapes of Rannoch to Shepard, and the floor was bare stone. With a small grin he remembered bringing Tali a model version of the Normandy SR-2 for her office once, and her flustered response as she explained that a Quarian politician must exemplify self-sacrifice and frugality. Shepard imagined that tradition would probably die off pretty soon.

Without further prompting, Shepard sat down in one of the chairs with an audible groan, and Tali took her place behind the desk. As she did, he was able to fully take in her appearance for the first time, and he quirked an eyebrow when he noticed something odd.

Tali's Mub'all, the shoulder to floor garment of her office, which always appeared to Shepard like an odd blend of a toga and a dress, looked relatively new. The purple and white swirled embroidery along the ends of the sleeve and up its front buttons, which matched the pattern she had worn on her headscarf many years ago and also denoted her clan, seemed hardly worn.

"New Mub'all?" He fingered the fabric of his own shirt as he asked.

Tali looked a little surprised at the question. "Oh. Yes, they gave it to me on my eightieth anniversary here." She looked down at the piece of clothing as if she didn't trust it completely. "It's too fancy for me. I liked the old one."

"Didn't it have holes in it?" Shepard asked. Tali's strict self-reliance and suspicion of anything that appeared even remotely luxurious always amused him. It was so entirely contrary to what he experienced elsewhere.

"I patched them. There was no need to spend money on a replacement for something that was entirely…." The pitch of her voice rose along with Shepard's smile. Tali stopped when she noticed.

"Oh, I see. Very funny Shepard." Tali cocked her head in disapproval. It was a habit of exaggerated body language that she'd picked up early in life and kept, even though she'd not worn an enviro-suit for nearly four decades.

He held his hands up defensively, the warmth of familiarity and friendship made him feel unburdened. "No, its just awkward now, that's all. I saw Liara on Thessia recently and bought you a private shuttle with some of her Shadow Broker money. Its in the park now, I had them tow the Kolata away."

The soft glow of Tali's eyes narrowed. "Thank you, but I take the public shuttle like everyone else."

"I saw some of the people who got off that shuttle when I was walking here. You should probably rethink that." Shepard said only half-serious.

"Shepard!" She exclaimed with genuine exasperation. "You told me you were going to take the shuttle from the spaceport. That's why I didn't pick you up."

With a flick of his wrist, Shepard waved off her concern. "I prefer walking anyway. It was good to see the park and the people. Though I'd forgotten what the sun was like here." He blinked deliberately and noticed that small orange spots still floated in his vision from being outside. Tali didn't look satisfied, so he decided to change the subject before she was actually mad at him.

"Anyway, how are you? How is the family?" As Shepard got older, it seemed that more and more conversations began with those questions. At least this time they'd managed to talk about Mub'alls first.

In response, Tali rubbed her forehead with thumb and third finger. "Keelah. Do you know what Kal did the other day? He _volunteered_ to hunt down the Batarian pirates who have been harassing one of our mining operations. Like he's still a marine in his twenties! He's twenty-five years older than any other person in command, and he's only supposed to be an advisor now." She shook her head and leaned forward in her chair. "Someone had to take him aside and remind him of his age. He sulked the whole night." She finished with a flurry of hand waving.

Shepard nodded sympathetically. "Getting old isn't easy for anyone Tali, but it's especially tough on a soldier. You've got so much wrapped up in what you can do physically, and then one day you can't do it anymore…or at least not as well as someone younger can." Shepard sighed as memories quickly flitted unbidden through his mind of his own physical breakdown over the years.

"Yes, you are right." Tali agreed solemnly. "I have tried to tell him that being an advisor is important, that his experience is helpful…but…he still wants to be in the middle of the fight." She paused for a moment, and her voice softened. "The one place I don't want him to be."

"Well…" Shepard said cautiously, not wanting to worry her further. "…I think we all come to terms with our limitations eventually. It's embarrassing and painful, but having the woman he loves there with him will make it easier. At least that's how it was for me…" he paused for a moment to remember, then continued, "…though she didn't really mind telling me I couldn't do things anymore."

Tali chuckled softly. "I would imagine. Still, he is well overall, just restless."

"I'm glad to hear it." Shepard noted genuinely. He'd always liked Kal, from their first meeting on Haestrom where they'd fought together, to his assistance in organizing the Horizon Conference that allowed the first steps towards the Terminus Agreement to be forged, the Quarian had demonstrated his intelligence and strong character.

Still, that hadn't stopped Shepard from having a conversation with him about his intentions towards Tali when they'd first started dating. The fact that Garrus and Wrex had also been a part of that conversation, while armed, had only been to make sure Kal knew that Tali should be respected and treated well. Shepard remembered catching shit for that later from Ashley, something about him being a "knuckle dragger."

"Shala is still working for K'Paz and T'Sya on Illium. She's helping to design the new headquarters for Sunfire Industries." Tali said happily, radiating maternal pride. "…And Walid…" her bubbling enthusiasm was abruptly tempered. Her son had always been the black sheep of the Zorah-Reegar family. "He…is an artist now. He had a show last year at a gallery on Eden Prime. It was very….modern." She spoke carefully, with an edge of instinctual defensiveness.

Shepard knew better than to say anything even remotely disparaging to a mother about her children. He still remembered an incident with Sylvia, a recital, and his wife, which had ended with C-Sec officers at his door.

"How are you? I didn't expect you to come all the way to Rannoch to see me." Tali asked with interest, her voice regaining some of its earlier warmth.

Shepard briefly considered being candid with his friend about the reason for the visit, but dismissed the idea. The notion of being dishonest with Tali made him feel uncomfortable, but he remembered Liara's reaction when he'd told her about the purpose of his visit. It would be much worse with Tali, as she always worried too much about everyone around her.

So with a forced smile he said, "I just wanted to see you again, and not through a vid screen. And also to see Rannoch too, it was nice walking through the city without having to go around half the Flotilla."

He couldn't tell if Tali believed him, but her voice lacked any suspicion as she replied, "well, I am glad that you are here, Shepard. You didn't have any trouble with customs did you?"

"Uh…well…" Shepard murmured quietly, stumbling over his words.

Without giving him a chance to explain further, her small fist hit the desk with an echoing bang. "Those bosh'tets! Did you tell them who you are? What you have done?" Tali's voice changed alarmingly, as it deepened and rolled like a storm now.

"Whoa, Tali. There's no need—"

But she wasn't finished. "Your name is on the plaque in the park! Without you…I…we!…there would be no Agreement. No…."

Shepard put his hands up defensively, except this time without any humor, and with a heavy burden. "Tali! Relax." She softened at his words, and looked embarrassed at her sudden outburst.

"It just took a little longer, and yes they knew who I was. I don't expect to be treated like royalty because of the past, you know how I feel about that sort of thing." He paused for a moment to collect himself, and to let the tension in the room dissipate somewhat. He continued after a moment in a more measured tone. "And, look, I know how hard you've worked as Admiral and Nal'Shastar in the government to change things. But the only reason we ever got the Agreement was because of the war, your people…the Quarian people…are just….insular. I wish it were different, I really do, but after everything that's happened I can't say I'm surprised."

Tali sighed deeply and her head hung in weary defeat. "I know Shepard. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up politics. I just…get mad when we treat other species, especially humans, badly. They act like we did all this…" she motioned at the office, "…on our own. They don't know, the ones who were born here, what it was like on the Flotilla. How everyone hated us and distrusted us. And now they act the same way." The anger in Tali's voice steadily increased as she spoke, but she paused and inhaled deeply before continuing.

"Its not that I trust the Council, even the new one, or that we should reapply for recognition, but…to not even acknowledge it…" She trailed off agitatedly.

Shepard had long ago come to terms with the direction of Quarian politics after the Reaper War, and the reoccupation of Rannoch. It wasn't that the memories didn't still hold pain and frustration, but rather that he simply pushed them away and reminded himself that there was nothing more he could do.

In the brief honeymoon phase following the war, when goodwill had been fostered between the races through their cooperation in the defeat of the Reapers, the Quarians had been open to reestablishing their position in the galaxy, and in the Citadel. Unfortunately, the brevity of that period meant that it didn't reach to the formal signing of the Terminus Agreement several years later. The Council, before its expansion to six members, had voted 3 to 1 to not recognize the legality of the Agreement, and therefore the Quarians' right to reoccupy their homeworld. Shepard remembered now, despite an effort to do otherwise, his impassioned speech to the Council on behalf of the Quarian people. How he had pleaded with them for the sake of the galaxy to recognize the Quarians' right to unilaterally make peace with the Geth, and to retake Rannoch. But the thing he remembered most were the placid expressions of the non-human Councilors, how he knew before the vote was even taken that there was no hope.

After that things had slowly but surely fallen apart. Shepard continued his visits to Rannoch, both as a friend to Tali and as someone invested in the future of the Quarians, but he could tell they were increasingly unwanted and awkward. He saw the rise of isolationism in the Quarian government, and the messages of xenophobia that accompanied it. Ultimately, around twenty-five years after the Agreement, all foreign diplomats were expelled from Rannoch and the Quarian government officially refused to recognize the Council's authority in the Terminus Systems. Moreover, all travel to the planet was highly curtailed for non-Quarians. Tali had gotten upset that he'd been hassled at customs, but the truth was that he was one of the few humans who would even be allowed to visit Rannoch in a non-business capacity.

Shepard batted back the long and painful history with a shake of his head. "I know Tali, you've tried…well, we've both tried. Maybe some day it will be different. The new Council gives me some hope; the Salarians, Asari, and Turians have had to learn to be more flexible with their views."

"I hope so, Shepard. It is strange, but I worry more about the future now than when I was young. Maybe because I know I won't be there to change it." Tali mused, a hint of melancholy in her voice.

"Yeah…" Shepard agreed, "I try to tell myself that we did our part, that we did what we could, but…I don't know. It seems like it's never enough. There's always going to be another war. I mean, last time I was on the Citadel people were already taking about Krogan birth rates. I try not to be too cynical, but it is hard." He stared unfocusedly at the ground in thought, "…very hard."

They sat in silence for several moments, as the familiar weight of regrets and past frustrations pressed down upon them. However, after allowing himself to dwell on such dark thoughts for a while, Shepard finally summoned the energy to fight them back. He remembered his purpose in visiting Tali, and it wasn't to commiserate and open old wounds.

"Anyway, enough of that. We've both been through a lot, I know, but we're both here now…I don't want to waste it on things we can't change." He said with honest conviction.

"I don't either. This is too important to waste." As she spoke, Tali stood up from her desk.

"Let's get away from all of this." She motioned to her office once again and then to his suitcase. "Do you want to go?"

Shepard rose from his seat as well with a deliberate effort, and nodded. "If we're walking to the public shuttle you should know that I don't move quite as fast as I used to." He reached down and picked up his suitcase before turning back to Tali.

"I understand. I get tired walking up stairs now. Keelah, its hard to believe we used to run around the galaxy, shooting Cerberus and hacking computers like it was nothing."

"Well, to be fair you did most of the hacking." He matched her short step as they left her office and headed for the Hall of Laws' entrance.

"I remember you did some hacking too, or maybe that was Kasumi." Tali teased him gently.

"Well we do look alike. You know Kasumi works at the Louvre? If the Mona Lisa goes missing…again, you and I might be called as character witnesses." Shepard smiled, the earlier warmth he'd felt in their conversation returning.

"I don't know what any of those things you just said are. What is a Lou…vre?" Tali asked, her unfamiliarity and accent bending the syllables in inventive ways.

Shepard laughed, the barking sound echoed off the stone walls of the Hall. "A museum and the Mona Lisa is a famous Human painting. Sorry, sometimes I forget that you're a Quarian politician." He smiled at her now, cautiously testing to make sure they'd moved past their earlier discussion.

Tali cocked her head and the glow of her eyes narrowed once again. She knew he was joking, and was happy to move on from the seriousness of their earlier discussion. "We're not all bad…most of us are though." Tali laughed, an infectious bubbling of happiness that Shepard gladly joined.

They ignored the soldiers in the lobby, who disapprovingly watched the human and Nal'Shastar walking and laughing together. And as they exited the Hall of Laws' doors and entered the oppressively orange Rannoch sunshine, they did so as old friends who weren't consumed by the past, but focused on the present, and the small amount of time they had left with one another.

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><p><strong>Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.<strong>


	3. Tuchanka

**I'd like to take a moment and thank everyone who has read the previous chapters of this story and in particular those of you who were kind enough to leave a review. I appreciate your support very much.**

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><p>"So…." John Shepard grimaced in concentration and then with a well-practiced movement, he leveled and aimed a M-6 with a still hand. He squeezed the trigger gently and a fraction second later there was a vibrant explosion of blood and bone thirty yards away. It made a wet popping noise that echoed back to him.<p>

He turned to his old friend Wrex. "…Peace, huh?"

Shepard was answered with a deep noncommittal grunt. He watched as the Krogan similarly lined up a shot, though perhaps more half-heartedly, and then heard the familiar return of death wash over them.

"This is it now. Killing wild Varren." Wrex growled disgustedly, as he looked out at the brown-gray wastes of Tuchanka. The planet's continuous cycle of catastrophe, which began with a nuclear holocaust and recently ended with the last in a series of civil wars sixty years ago, had permanently twisted the land into a near lifeless horror. The perpetually hazy sky darkened only barren rock and rubble from past battles, with the exception of the odd feral animal that scurried about in a desperate search for food. Occasionally, the monotony of the place was broken by small eddies of wind, which would whip along the waste and twirl dirt and debris aimlessly. Ultimately, however, even they would lose energy and succumb to the death that surrounded them.

"And with pistols." Wrex continued dejectedly.

They sat atop an old modified M29 Grizzly together, nearly 200 miles outside Urdnot, with only a few unmanned drones circling them overhead to thwart any potential danger. Next to each was a bottle, Ryncol for Wrex, and some sort of expensive looking Scotch for Shepard that Tali had given to him as a present on Rannoch. In companionable silence they each drank and took potshots at the wildlife.

Shepard licked his alcohol stung lips and said, "I know it's not what you would have ever wanted a hundred years ago, but this…this is good, Wrex."

Wrex grunted again, but this time replied. "So you keep telling me. But I wasn't raised to be a….diplomat" he spat the last word, as if the syllables were rotten.

Shepard looked over at him. "Neither was I, and I never wanted to be. But…" he paused and turned his head towards the dull heavy clouds that reached to the horizon."…It's one thing to fight the Rachni or the Reapers…it's another to fight the Citadel. I…" He stopped abruptly, not wanting to go any further. Any mention or allusion to the Rebellions and the genophage was always a risky proposition, and Shepard knew from experience that it was best to avoid them as much as possible.

"They're soft and we are becoming soft like them." Wrex said simply in response.

The words were part of a well-worn argument that Shepard had heard from Wrex for decades. He knew that they represented his friend's knee-jerk response to the Krogan's increasing diplomatic entanglements and not a considered opinion of the situation. Accordingly, he played the role that he knew so well, the rational counter-balance to Wrex's impatient and frustrated hostility.

"There's nothing soft about being intelligent Wrex." He began, the familiarity of the words made it feel like an echo from the past. "You didn't defeat the other clans and unite your people just because you were the angriest or the most aggressive. And there's no honor in fighting a war that doesn't need to be fought." Shepard chose his words carefully, but he knew that they would still appear to be pacifist and conciliatory to Wrex.

Consequently, he continued the argument, and attempted to give his words a bit more steel. "Anyway…the Krogan deserve to be seen and treated like something more than mercs and thugs. I mean, haven't you seen what political power for your people can accomplish?" Shepard again tip-toed around the central conceit of his words, which was that the Krogan should care about the larger political framework of the galaxy, and work within it, instead of simply butting their heads against it constantly.

"Asking permission about what planets we can colonize…being told yes and no by someone who wouldn't know what end of a gun to point at a Batarian? It wasn't what I ever saw for my people." Wrex said grimly, his words a low growl.

Shepard was again undeterred by the words, because he knew that they were his friend's pride talking and not his head. "And you've been able to colonize. You've even settled on planets that had been designated for Turian economic development…" At this reminder Shepard finally saw a small smile on Wrex's face, and so he continued with an encouraged energy. "…You've spread throughout the DMZ and beyond, become much richer…and maybe it's a change…but isn't it nice to see your sons and daughters born with a purpose beyond dying?"

Shepard knew that to convince a Krogan, and in particular someone who was under incredible political pressure like Wrex, that the success and power of their people could be independent of body counts, was always a difficult matter. In the years that followed the civil wars' conclusion he'd considered it impossible many times. Not because he believed that the Krogan were simple minded warmongers, but rather that the concept of warfare was so engrained in their culture and individual worth that any change would be seen as a fundamental betrayal of tradition.

Nevertheless, after failing to gain political recognition and consideration for the Quarians, and watching as they withdrew into themselves with increasingly vitriolic contempt for other races, Shepard had been determined to not let the Krogan suffer a similar fate. Fortunately, the Krogan possessed a key difference from the Quarians. They had an organized and viciously effective military, and a willingness to use it. Even more importantly, the unification of the clans under Urdnot and the forthcoming population explosion as a result of the eradication of the genophage, meant that Krogan power was strongly on the ascendant. It was clear to everyone, even the most ardent opponents of Krogan political representation, that they could not simply be ignored. The only question was whether or not another war was inevitable.

"I know that money and territory are important." Wrex begrudgingly acknowledged, interrupting Shepard's line of thought. "But just sitting here. Shooting Varren…" he waved his pistol dismissively at the waste, and then roughly grabbed his bottle of Ryncol.

"I understand Wrex." Shepard said sympathetically. "But the Krogan are stronger now than they ever have been because of you." He noted matter-of-factly, taking a sip of Scotch himself.

"Mmm. The colonies _are_ doing well. Ha!" Wrex abruptly laughed to himself, a deep timbre that rolled without obstacle around them. "Last week, Grunt sent me a vid of some creature his team killed on Rothla. Big damn thing. Made the Asari engineers shit themselves." He laughed again, this time even louder.

Shepard chuckled, both at Wrex's amusement and his choice in employees. "You're still using Asari engineers?"

Wrex smiled knowingly at Shepard. "Good for morale. Also keeps the females on edge. You should see the birth rates on the colonies where we use them."

Shepard wryly nodded in understanding. In his youth he'd spent many a shore leave at bars, hopelessly hitting on the beautiful Asari dancers. Those memories seemed oddly uncomfortable now, as they lingered in fractured and blurred pieces. It was like there was some uncertainty in his mind that the young man was indeed him, and not a friend or character in a book he'd once read. The notion of having ever been that cocky, carefree and energetic seemed entirely foreign to him now. Decades upon decades of war and politics had punished him mercilessly, not only physically but mentally as well, leaving him unsure that life could genuinely be led without constant pain and loss.

As his mind staggered through memories of the past, it branched beyond tales of a failed lascivious youth, and through a hundred other thoughts and associations. Fighting on Thessia against the Reapers, the exact shade of pale blue that pooled in Samara's wide eyes, the cocksure grin of Aria T'Loak, the happiness on Liara's face when she'd told him about how Miranda had kissed her when she finally admitted her feelings. Liara. How had he forgotten until now?

"I just remembered Wrex, I saw Liara a while ago and she said to say hello…" Redirected towards his recent trip to Thessia, he recalled fully now how they'd left the park and gone back to her penthouse, where they'd started planning his visits to other old friends. Wrex and Tuchanka were an obvious choice, as both seemed as immovable and immortal as stone.

"How does she look these days?" Wrex inquired sharply, as he took a particularly large gulp of Ryncol.

Shepard grinned and took a sip that burned his throat and moisten his eyes. "Still too young for you. Also, she's with Miranda."

Wrex nodded. "Can't compete with that."

"Yeah, that was the only thing keeping you two apart too." Shepard noted dryly.

"Always did better with their commandos anyway. Little blue machines, could go forever." Wrex remembered wistfully as he pawed at his bottle's label.

"Thanks for that." Shepard shook the accompanying imagery away with wide eyes. "Anyway, what I was going to say was that Liara is giving a series of lectures at the Citadel on the Protheans and the Reaper War later this year. And when I mentioned how often you visit there on business, she _also_ wanted me to tell you to come see one of them."

"Hmm. Maybe. It would better than what I normally do. Meetings and conferences." The familiar snarl of contempt at politics returned in Wrex's words.

The tone stirred old anxieties and feelings within Shepard, and he shifted uncomfortably. He knew that the fight to get the Krogan into those meetings and conferences had been a protracted and brutally frustrating one, during which he'd burned through considerable political goodwill and public popularity. He was told, then warned, and finally threatened that pursuing a place for the Krogan on the Citadel would end disastrously. Person after person made it clear to him that for all his impassioned speeches, challenges, and pleas, the Krogan would always be viewed as a militaristically minded race, incapable of the intellectual acumen necessary to participate in the larger political arena. That, ultimately, he would fail just as he had with the Quarians.

Shepard had rejected all of these biases and threats because he firmly believed that the Krogan legitimately _deserved_ a place at the table, and that to deny them it would mean another war and millions of deaths. However, the fight with those who opposed his beliefs was only half the battle, because before he was able to lobby on behalf of the Krogan he had needed their support to pursue such a goal. He'd always understood that such consent was not a formality, but he never supposed that it would be such a struggle to achieve.

As he watched Wrex blast another Varren into a spray of blood that the cracked and dry ground eagerly drank up, Shepard was pushed back into a past of confrontation and despair. After the war the Citadel and its races were in a greatly weakened state both militarily and economically, and many Krogan viewed the situation as an opportunity for them to rise to a dominant position within the galaxy. Unsurprisingly then, rumors immediately began to swirl in Council Space about the Krogan's intent and plans in the post-war power vacuum. Due to his relationship with the leader of the most prominent clan, Shepard was asked to establish a diplomatic relationship with the Krogan and detail the possible threat they posed to the galaxy.

As it turned out, however, in the post-war period the Krogan were a greater threat to themselves than anyone else. Wrex's unwillingness to immediately seize the opportunities presented within the galaxy for rapid expansion, and strike against the old enemies of his people, precipitated a civil war on Tuchanka. Over the course of several years, anger and resentment at Wrex's perceived inaction precariously boiled until it ultimately congealed into a loose confederation of smaller clans who supported an archly conservative and militarily aggressive position. When they struck against Clan Urdnot in a coordinated effort on land and in orbit, they staggered its defenses.

In his firmly established position of influence and power Shepard had convinced the few remaining Human military leaders to officially recognize Clan Urdnot as the legitimate rulers of Tuchanka, and to begin the shipment of munitions for aid in the war after several years. The Krogan Civil Wars lasted a total of almost thirty years, though battles were increasingly sporadic in the final decade. In the end the vanquished clans, who had been largely destroyed, capitulated to Wrex and were made to suffer the ultimate humiliation of surrendering their arms.

Shepard had viewed the unification of the Krogan as an opportunity for them to become a member of the galaxy's larger political system and to finally end their cycle of war and destruction. Wrex saw things differently, however. He wished to forge an alliance with Humanity as an acknowledgment of his friendship with Shepard and aid in the war, but Wrex steadfastly refused any other alliance. The notion of answering to a Council that included Turians and Salarians was a completely ridiculous notion in his opinion, and one that he believed would ignite massive political unrest.

Accordingly, Shepard and Wrex remained mired in a stalemate throughout years of sporadic discussion. Things ultimately climaxed when Shepard visited Tuchanka after a meeting at the Citadel, during which statistics of Krogan birth rates had been discussed with worrying tones and close minds. Between hoarse yelling and flared biotics, he had exasperatedly proffered the notion of the Krogan gaining not just a position on the Citadel but on the Council itself. Shepard remembered now, sitting atop the Grizzly over half a century later, the booming laughter that had shaken the room in response.

Nonetheless, Shepard's idea proved to be a turning point, not just for the Krogan but also for the entire galaxy. In less than a year, he'd convinced Wrex that a Krogan position on the Council meant equality with his enemies and could prevent another war with the Citadel, which would undoubtedly devastate the Krogan just when they were regaining their strength.

Finally of one mind and resolve, Shepard and Wrex had then traveled to the Citadel, and in their respective positions of Admiral and Clan Leader, begun the process of garnering support for the expansion of the Council. They were immediately met with cold shoulders and incredulous looks. Shepard remembered watching the goodwill that had surrounded him since the war slowly but surely fade away. Allies and friends awkwardly distanced themselves from him and his ideas of Krogan political representation.

The crux of the problem was that the Council was the arbiter of its own expansion, and required a majority to admit any new race. The Human Councilor voiced his support for the inclusion of more races, albeit somewhat reluctantly, but the Salarians, Asari, and Turians remained immovable in their unwillingness to expand the Council.

For six long and torturous years Shepard worked to build support for the Krogan, and plead his case to the Council with only the smallest successes. The drawn out process eroded Wrex's patience with politics, as he saw the continued rejection of any possibility of Krogan representation as a direct insult to his people and a reaffirmation of his dislike of the Council races. Wrex's anger finally boiled over in an address to the Council, during which he strongly intimated that the Krogan were ready and willing to go to war to defend their interests and continued expansion in the galaxy. Shepard could only watch as his friend not only threatened the Councilors to their faces, but also began naming specific military weaknesses each possessed. After a short shouting match with the Turian Councilor, they were both escorted out of the Citadel Tower under armed guard.

Shepard's memory of their walk back to the shuttle was entirely one of emotion. Many things from the past had fallen away in his old age, battles blurred together in a cacophony of screams, barked orders, and weapons fire, and the details of people's faces became more and more hazy with each passing year. However, the intensity of his anger and hopelessness on that walk remained burned within his mind, a moment of pain that stood defiantly against the feebleness of his deteriorating self.

With each step away from the Tower, the fire of his anger had tightened his muscles, causing his jaw to clench and teeth to grind together. Years of negotiation and hard work had all been for naught, and now there would be war. Maybe not in his own lifetime but at least in Sylvia's, and that thought alone filled him with enough anger to want to attack the armed guard and run back to the Tower demanding another audience.

It was then that everything changed. Four steps away from the shuttle that would take them back to the _Marathon_, an Asari had called their names and delivered their salvation. She was an assistant to the Councilor, and informed them in a hushed tone and beckoning gesture that her lady wished to have a word with them in her chambers.

"You alright Shepard? I killed your Varren." Wrex asked him, the rough words bringing him back to the present.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah…I was just thinking about that time when you threatened the Council." Shepard said with a reassuring smile.

"Which one?" Wrex answered.

"Right before we met the Asari Councilor." He smiled crookedly at how rapidly things had been changed. "I remember warning you the entire time we were walking there not to threaten her again."

Wrex nodded. "And I told you if you didn't stop talking I'd eat you. Still can't believe that worked. Just had to put our boot on their throats."

Shepard hesitated at his friend's choice in words for a moment before responding. "I'm not sure it was that exactly. But…I guess in retrospect it makes sense that the only Citadel race who lives close to as long as you would take the long view. Another war, even centuries away, would be an immediate concern for them."

"It sure didn't make that Salarian bastard flinch. What was his name? Meh…" Wrex waved his hand dismissively at the waste. "That's the good thing about them. They don't live long enough to make remembering anything about them important." Wrex laughed and sagged backwards on the Grizzly. The now nearly empty bottle of Ryncol almost toppled over with the movement.

"If only it had made him change his mind…then we wouldn't have had to go through all that shit." Shepard sighed and reached for his own bottle. He took another sip, which burned with a dull warm pain that coaxed his shoulders to slump under the weary weight of the memories.

That goddamn third Council vote.

After meeting with the Asari Councilor and obtaining tentative support for Council expansion, he and Wrex had immediately agreed that the best chance to obtain the third vote lay with the Salarians. Shepard surmised that despite the fact that the Salarians had engineered the genophage, and thereby earned the hatred of every Krogan alive, their political outlook was ultimately a coldly analytical one that sought only to maintain their own security and prosperity. In contrast, the Turian Primarchs' hatred of the Krogan had been bred in the intense warfare of their ancestors. The shattering of family lines, the creation of millions of orphans, and reports of mass graves that still continued to the present, made the Turians' hatred of the Krogan an immovable force.

Nonetheless, after six years of stalled negotiations and now nearly open threats of war, it was clear to Shepard and Wrex that the Salarians would never be moved by diplomacy. As a result, Shepard decided to abandon discussion and instead move into the morally grayer area of political manipulation of the Salarian Union and its numerous Dalatrasses. The decision did not come easily, and Shepard had anguished over his turn to deceit and underhandedness, but he now saw the situation as a war. Moreover, he felt with absolute conviction that Krogan political equality and the subsequent prevention of war were ends that justified questionable means.

Despite the plan's simple goal, it possessed a byzantine complexity that tested the patience of several of Wrex's Battlemasters. Through an intricate year-long campaign of misinformation, feigned troop movement, and one spectacular incident of corporate espionage masterminded by Kasumi at his behest, Shepard and Wrex managed to convince the Salarian intelligence agencies that the Krogan's forces were not only significantly larger than they appeared, but also that they were moving into a position to strike against the Council races. At the time Shepard had foolishly believed that the Salarian Union would recognize the clear and immediate threat to the galaxy, and as they were unable to utilize biological weapons to give themselves any sort of chance militarily, they would attempt to avert war with an agreement to expand the Council.

The Salarians decided on a much different path. During a meeting with Wrex on Tuchanka regarding the movement of troops outside the DMZ, they were interrupted by a bright flash of light and then a voice. Wrex had instinctually drawn his weapon, but only to point it at a hologram of Feron, the Shadow Broker. Without preamble or explanation of how he was able to bypass security, Feron had informed them that a STG assassination team was to land on Tuchanka within the hour and eliminate Wrex.

The _Marathon's_ equipment was only just able to detect the ship in orbit, and then only because it was specifically looking for it. However, once they established a lock on the ship's signature, they were able to track it to its LZ and watch the three Salarian assassins slowly creep towards the capital from orbit. After two days of waiting, the STG team finally made their move against Wrex during a tour of the outer settlements that ringed Urdnot. It was the time and place that Shepard had expected them to attempt to assassinate Wrex, as he surmised that his friend's schedule had been stolen and analyzed for obvious vulnerabilities. With knowledge of their location and intention, the assassins were unable to even fire a single shot, as a specially formed team of Battlemasters sprang on the Salarians and disarmed them violently.

"I liked it. Dictating terms to the Salarians was a nice change." Wrex finally responded. "Would have been more satisfying to kill them but it worked out fine."

"The plan wasn't to blackmail the Salarian Councilor, but you're right. At least the Union decided to negotiate their return instead of just sending another team." Shepard noted.

"Mmm. Dragging them into the Tower and demanding that the Salarians be thrown off the Council would have been fun too." Wrex paused a moment and then concluded with a growled, "politics."

"You know Wrex…" Shepard sighed into the breeze, which had suddenly come up from behind them. "I won't always be here to stop you from killing things. Pretty soon its just going to be you on your own." He meant the words sarcastically, but to his own ears they came out hoarse and flat.

"I'm more worried about what comes after me. Even after joining the Council diplomacy still isn't popular." Wrex stopped and then turned to his friend. "And it sounds like this is more than a visit for you. It's a Maklahon."

"Maklahon?" Shepard echoed back in confusion.

"At the end of a Krogan's life, when he still has the strength, he goes on his Maklahon. It is a return to his first battlefield, the place where he truly became a warrior. He…" Wrex motioned towards the sky, "…talks to the Void, the thing that comes next. Then he returns to the clan and dies." He finished matter-of-factly.

"This isn't my first battlefield Wrex." Shepard said in an attempt to brush off the accusation, as it felt too close to the truth.

"You're not a Krogan. Visiting Liara, Tali, and now me? Maklahon. Just with human feelings." Wrex turned away from him and back to the wastes.

A silence filled with understanding fell between them. Each was a warrior who understood that their time was near the end, and that the best days were long in the past. That the success created by the battles they'd won seemed distant and transitory when compared to the unraveling of their own minds and bodies.

Shepard drew back from those thoughts, and instead focused on the present. "Feelings? Don't worry Wrex I'm not going to try and hug you."

Wrex laughed. "Good, because I can't drive this drunk and you can't do it dead."

Shepard joined him in laughter. It was a hoarse and raspy noise, but genuine as it surrounded them and then sped away along the wastes of Tuchanka.

* * *

><p><strong>I've marked this as completed for now, because while I have several ideas for additional chapters that would show Shepard catching up with other characters, I have not written them and I think it would be unfair to promise them at this time.<strong>


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